A snow-white cat, gentle and trusting, was about to be tossed into a garbage truck. But what makes his case so tragic isn’t just how—it’s why he wouldn’t make it out alive.
His name is Kim—nicknamed “The Polar Bear” for his soft white fur and innocent eyes. He was rescued as a tiny newborn, bottle-fed, raised by humans. He never knew a mother cat, never learned to hunt or fear people. He loves everyone, blindly.
And that’s the problem.
Kim doesn’t run away when strangers approach. He doesn’t hide when it rains. He doesn’t know how to fend for himself. All he knows is that people mean warmth, food, and safety.
So when the property manager decided the stray cats needed to be “disposed of,” Kim was the first on the list. He was the easiest to catch—because he would willingly walk into anyone’s arms.
That same day, devastating news broke: a black cat, likely Nikki—a shy feline from the same colony—had been electrocuted inside an engine compartment. She had gone missing for days. And now, she may be gone forever.
Meanwhile, Kim, along with two other cats—Ulan and Oliver—is facing imminent danger. The other two are more street-smart and harder to catch. But Kim? He’s a baby in a grown cat’s body. He can’t survive a night alone, much less being dumped in the rain.
The person sharing this plea couldn’t hold back tears. She begged: “Please foster Kim. He doesn’t deserve this. He thinks every human is a friend—and that trust might cost him his life.”
Full story in the first c0mment.
You’d think that once a cat is rescued, bottle-fed, and raised with love, he’d be safe. But for Kim, being too gentle might be what gets him killed.
Unlike street-smart cats, Kim walks right up to people. He doesn’t know how to fight for food or avoid danger. He thinks every hand reaching toward him is for a cuddle.
But this time, that hand could be putting him in a truck… not taking him home.
It’s been raining hard. The roads are flooded, and shelters are overflowing. If Kim is dumped now, he wouldn’t last long. He’s not like other ferals. He doesn’t have a wild streak. He was raised in love—and that’s exactly why he’s vulnerable.
This isn’t a call for pity. It’s a call for action.
We’re not asking for a miracle. We’re asking for one person. One heart. One safe space—just for now.
Because Kim still believes in humans. He still trusts. He still purrs when you speak gently. And it would be a tragedy if that faith, that innocence, was betrayed.
If you’ve ever believed that kindness matters, then let Kim remind you why.
Please help him.
And if you can’t foster, share. Let his story reach someone who can.
Because once he’s gone, that light in his eyes will go with him—and we’ll never get another chance to do the right thing.
